


Can't Keep Pretending

by ardentmuse



Series: Harry Hart Imagines [9]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Kingsman!Reader, Kissing, Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentmuse/pseuds/ardentmuse





	Can't Keep Pretending

“Galahad, I think it makes most sense for you to take on this mission,” Arthur addressed Harry where he sat across the board room table from you. “And as this resort is typically a couples’ retreat, take Bedivere with you.”

“Fuck me.”

Everyone’s eyes, included Harry’s, turned to you. You slunk back into your chair, the red spreading over your neck and face. You could see Harry raise an eyebrow at you in question but you refused to look up from your lap, your hand covering your forehead.

Lancelot leaned over and whispered in your ear, “Gladly, love.”

The hand on your forehead immediately slapped your best friend in the chest.

You couldn’t believe you had actually uttered those words aloud. Yes, you were incredibly sick of these continued missions in which you and Harry had to behave like a couple. So many times you were stuck together in small spaces, forced to hold hands, and utter words of adoration as you infiltrated various organizations and governments. If only you weren’t hopelessly in love with him, then maybe it would be much easier to play house all the time.

“Are we okay to continue, Bedivere?” Arthur asked, indignation oozing in his tone.

You swallowed and nodded, still refusing to meet Harry’s eye.

After a few minutes, Lancelot leaned over again and whispered, “Great job there, Y/N. How could Harry not fall for you when you’re just so damn charming.”

“James, I will kill you,” you warned.

“Sure you will, love,” he offered with a laugh, pulling Harry’s attention to your hushed conversation.

Harry met your eyes with furrowed brow and frowned before placing his attention back on Arthur and the briefing.

You felt James’s breath on your neck again, “See what I mean? Completely smitten.”

This time, you resisted the urge to slap him again.

A week later you found yourself sitting on a couch in the most luxurious ski resort in the Alps, Harry at your side, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, as you listened to the Italian arms dealer and his wife ramble on about some recent meeting with some Middle Eastern Head of State. But you were not listening in the slightest. Your brain could process nothing other than, “Hand on thigh, hand on thigh,” over and over again.

Harry gave you a light squeeze, pulling your attention back to the conversation. The lady sitting across from you was looking on expectantly.

“I’m sorry. I seemed to have missed the question.”

At your honesty, Harry let out a hearty laugh.

The target joined in, saying, “Not to worry, bella. It’s easy to be distracted when you have such a handsome gentleman who can’t keep his hands off of you.”

You couldn’t stop your face from turning the deepest crimson, eyes darting to where Harry’s hand still gently caressed your thigh, the fabric of your skirt rising which each pass, now his thumb and index finger in full contact with your bare flesh. How could this man turn you on with touches that were just for show?

Harry quickly recovered for you, “You’d have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself as well if you had the love of such a divine creature.” He added a smile to you at the end that melted your body in ways you wished it didn’t.

“I know the struggle,” the criminal added, slinging an arm around his wife and pulling her into a near violent kiss. When they broke apart, they turned back to you expectantly. You knew this part of the game. Couples trusted couples. And these Italians were no different,

Harry turned to you. His free hand caressed the side of you face before gently taking your chin between his fingers.

“Darling,” he whispered, “I love you,” before leaning forward to capture your lips in his own.

Immediately, you darted up and out his grasp. You saw shock on Harry’s face that he quickly hid as concern.

“Dear, are you alright?” he asked, salvaging your mission. 

“I’m suddenly feeling queasy. I’m going to get some air.”

And with that, you fled out into the snow, leaving Harry to pick up the pieces of your crumbling relationship with your targets.

After a few minutes, you heard crunching behind you.

“Y/N,” Harry whispered, though you didn’t dare turn in response, not wanting him to see your tears. “Y/N,” he said again, this time much closer to your back. When you still didn’t respond, he continued, “I know this is hard, love, but please. I know you don’t want to kiss me but just try for the next hour or so until these people believe we’re head over heels. We’re so close. Just pretend, please.”

“I can’t,” you said through shaky breath.

“Yes, you can, love. I know you –”

“No, I can’t pretend, Harry,” you nearly screamed, turning to meet his eyes. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I can’t keep pretending I’m not in love with you. I can’t just hear you say you love me and have you hold me and kiss me and pretend it means nothing to me. It’s a big fucking deal, Harry. And when the man I love kisses me for the first time, it better be because he wants to, not just to prove something to some upstart weapons sellers.”

Harry stared at you in disbelief for a short moment before he uttered, “Oh, thank god,” and rushed forward, taking your face in his hands and kissing you with abandon.

Your brain was so confused by what was happening. His kiss was raw and primal. Your mouth melded to his in a dance that almost immediately elicited a moan. You tasted scotch and mint and warmth that spread through your body and burned our core. So much of you wanted this, yes, but a bigger part of you wanted to understand the why. Reluctantly, you pushed on his chest, breaking the near perfect kiss you had always imagined.

“Why?” you questioned, out of breath.

“Y/N, I may be a spy but I am a surprisingly awful liar. I wasn’t faking. Haven’t been for many missions now. I doubt I ever could fake the kind of love I feel for you.”

You were stunned, mouth open and hands still against his chest.

Harry asked, “May I please keep kissing you now?”

You laughed at his eagerness and responded by kissing him yourself, your hands immediately coming into his hair. He smiled against your pursuing mouth, grabbing at your lower back to create even more contact between your bodies.

Between breaths, Harry whispered, “I’ll say it again then. Darling, I love you.” His hands kneading into the flesh of your hips created a rhythm that made it hard for you to not roll your hips against him. You always suspected the hints of chemistry between the two of you on these missions could turn into something beautiful and sexual, but you didn’t expect it to escalate so quickly. You felt him grow against you and a growl escape his throat with each pass your hips made.

“I love you, too,” you whispered before arching yourself deeply against him and holding there.

Crunching on the snow behind you forced you both apart. Catching your breath, you turned to see the Italians hand in hand, staring at you two with something like pride on their faces.

“Ah, young love,” the wife sighed, “I miss those early days, don’t you dear?”

Her husband agreed with her, adding, “Seeing as we all seem quite eager to enjoy the company of our partners this evening, perhaps we call it a night and finalize the details of our deal in the morning?”

With a nod from each of you, the Italians bid you farewell.

“Want to take their advice?” Harry asked once their out of earshot, his gaze twinkling with mischief.

“Advice from international war criminals? Sounds delightful,” you quipped as Harry pulled you back inside.

“When their advice is that I ravish your body, I’d consider them more heroes than criminals.”

“We still have to bust them, Harry,” you reminded him as you took his hand in yours and interlocked your fingers.

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed, “First I need to make sure you know just how little I’ve been faking.”


End file.
